Quinn jerked his head up. A gunshot? Distant. A hunter possibly, he tried to tell himself, but he hurried toward the sound of it.
As sunlight sifted through the thick trees, he looked down again to read the tracks. Still two sets of footsteps, Alex’s and the man’s in single file, she walking ahead of him because he blurred some of her prints.
Now, tiny bits of shredded paper. And more than once another deep-toed arrow to show their direction, as if he needed that. Yes, that was his girl, his beautiful, clever and bold Alex!
But the tracks were scuffed here. And dried blood! Drops, then smears of it, but perhaps from a deer, which had left tracks. No, a moose, a big one, maybe a bull with a full rack of antlers, magnificent to see. What kind of jerk would shoot at that?
So had some passing hunter seen Alex go into the storage shed at the lodge and decided to risk kidnapping her? No way, not with those fancy new shoes.
Quinn was out of breath, but he pushed himself to jog at a speed which still let him keep his head down to watch for tracks. The animal must have been shot, staggered a bit, but went on down a side path, limping. With the dried blood, that was obviously not the gunshot he’d just heard. Maybe her captor was trigger-happy and probably nervous as hell. If it was her former fiancé—Quinn’s biggest fear—what kind of a vet shot a beautiful animal that would probably not attack?
At least it was not bear tracks he was staring at. The ripe berries this time of year could draw them to areas where they didn’t live.
Time was ticking and Alex’s captor must have some sort of escape plan, maybe including having a plane pick them up on the lake. If they left the area, she might be lost forever.
He was even more torn when he double-checked and saw footsteps heading two directions, one toward the lake, one toward the road. Why would her ex take her toward the lake unless he was waiting for a plane—or meant to drown her?
Quinn chose the direction of the lake and hurried on.
Alex slammed into Lyle, then the ground hard, but so did Lyle. Her breath whoofed out. They both scrambled for the gun. She was closest to it, picked it up in her tied hands. No time to get her finger on the trigger and aim, so she got to her knees and heaved it as far as she could. The only good thing that had happened so far: it landed in the middle of a tall, blooming bush of devil’s club.
She was shaking all over, hot and cold. She would have never shot him in time before he grabbed her or got the gun—and used it himself.
“Damn you, Alex!” he shouted, and kicked her in the stomach before he scrambled to his feet.
Doubled up in pain, she could barely choke out her words. “I just...didn’t want you to shoot another animal. Or me when I—I’ve been so relieved to see you, make things up to you. I’m sure we’re on the path toward the road.”
Still lying on the ground, she dry heaved. She had nothing in her to throw up. Her head pounded, and her belly throbbed. Never had she been so scared and so miserable—well, maybe when she was with Lyle those last days.
“That looks like a bunch of thorns where you threw it,” he said, looking away.
“Those prickers are toxic,” she gasped, wiping her mouth with the tail of her blouse. “Lyle, we must be close to the road. Leave me here and just go on. I don’t know if I even have the strength to walk anymore.”
“And leave you to make up some story about my kidnapping you? Get up, damn it!”
He yanked her arm nearly out of its socket. She got to her knees, her feet. She was absolutely sick of pretending to care for and obey this man, but she wanted to live. She wanted to live here in Falls Lake, now and in the future.
To her amazement, he knocked her down again, almost as if it was a football tackle. He pressed her down, lay on top of her.
“You stupid bitch, I ought to take you right now, then tie you up naked and leave you, but you may be my ticket out of here. Swear to me you’ll go with me, keep your mouth shut.”
He pulled her hair so hard her chin jerked up. Her eyes watered and she began to sob. If Lyle still had the gun, she would be gone, not that he couldn’t strangle her, knock her head with a stone, the way Val had died.
“Yes, I’ll go with you. I—I said I would. Lyle, you have got to trust me if we’re going to be together.”
“Remains to be seen,” he muttered, and hauled her to her feet again.
One of her shoes had come off in the scuffle. He saw it, but kicked it off the path, pulled her away from retrieving it and shoved her on.
Earlier, Quinn was confused that his quarry had evidently turned toward the lake and the road. So Alex was letting her captor wander, hoping for time, maybe for a way to escape. But on the shingle shore, he’d lose their tracks.
Sticking close to the trees, not on the water’s edge, he jogged around this end of the lake. And there, closer to the water, glittering in the sun, was a thin link gold bracelet that must be hers.
A struggle had caused it to come off? No, even the delicate lobster claw link was intact. Weird but he pictured the wedding rings in the jewelry shop window again. Gold. She liked gold. And graceful, delicate things.
Like herself, his golden girl. Graceful, but not delicate. Strong and sturdy except when it came to missing her lost sister. And now, Alex might be missing, too.
He heard and saw nothing but two loons landing on the lake with their crazy call that sounded like a yodel and the distant murmur of the waterfall. The lake sometimes sent back an echo. He had to try the other path.
Jamming the bracelet in his pocket, he turned and sprinted for the trail that led to the road, then down it, jogging again, eyes alert for any signs—signs of how Alex was holding up.
Down the path toward the road, something silver caught his eye—another treasured clue, a larger item than the slender bracelet? A metal compass glinted in a shaft of sun. Surely Alex had not left that for a clue, too. Quinn picked up the compass, holding it by a big leaf, preserving fingerprints, not leaving his own. He dropped it in his backpack and scanned the ground again. Had her captor lost or tossed it?
He knew one thing for sure: her captor was the metro man she’d thought she’d loved—Dr. Lyle Vet, whatever his last name was.
But he’d figure out how the bastard had traced her later. He pushed on, not far—then, over here, it looked as if two bodies had hit the ground and writhed a bit. Both got up again and went on. Had he attacked her sexually or had they fought? He couldn’t tell.
Then yes! They were still on the trail ahead. Even running, he could see their footprints again. Alex was flagging, dragging her feet. He prayed she wasn’t injured. And not wounded by the gun he’d heard go off, but he saw no blood.
He came to a place where there had been another scuffle, near a bad stand of devil’s club. Her shoe was there, just one shoe. Surely the monster who held her was not undressing her. At least two sets of footsteps appeared again and went on, Alex with one shoeless foot.
So head down, hurrying, he went on, too.
This trek was turning into an out-of-body experience. It was way beyond nightmare, beyond the hope she could escape, or that Suze and Meg would send troopers to rescue her, if they could find her. No sounds of search dogs, no helicopters flying over.
Even better, she prayed someone had reached Quinn in New York, and he would tell them what to do, that he would be back as soon as he could.
One foot in front of the other. Paying the price for falling for Lyle—trying to keep from falling. Maybe she should pretend to faint, to collapse at least. It would be so easy. Maybe he would run off and leave her. He was tired, too, frustrated, panicked he’d attempted more than he could control.
She knew they must be close to the road, for this was the same path she and Quinn had taken out of the woods. It seemed so long ago.
She was full of regrets. The minute she knew that Spenser distrusted Lyle, she should have taken that for a sign, but she thought the little guy would get over it.
“Lyle, I’m too sick and weak to go on. Just leave me and go.”
“Lied to me about wanting me back, didn’t you?”
“Let’s just say the way you have treated me on this trek has not been like someone in love who wants a reconciliation, like I do.”
He yanked her arm to spin her around to face him. She nearly fell, tried to keep her balance.
“How about I take your clever suggestion you just stay here, and I’ll go on alone?” he ranted.
He pushed her, back against a tree so hard she hit her head. Dizzy, spinning...
She watched him through slitted eyelids as he grabbed a broken tree branch from the ground and swung it at her head. Somehow, she turned away in time, and it banged against the tree trunk. The limb shattered—bark flew, rotten inner wood peppered her. Rotten to the core—he meant to kill her!
Move, crawl, run, fight! an inner voice screamed at her, maybe Allie’s voice.
“The end!” he was muttering. “The end, the end!”
She scrambled to her feet and ran, but she heard him coming after her. He was between her and the road, but could she lose him in the woods she knew better than him? Wouldn’t someone, Suze or Meg, Josh—anyone—come looking for her?
Her wrists still tied, she darted down a narrowing path, around a sharp turn, and there was salvation. Quinn! It was really Quinn, here now, running toward her!
“Lyle! He found me, wants to kill me!” she cried, and nearly vaulted into his arms. He was solid, really here!
“Is he behind you?” he asked, setting her back behind him and moving off the path. “I don’t hear him. Does he have the gun I heard go off?”
“I threw it in the devil’s club back there.”
“That’s my girl. Stay here.” He dug a jackknife out of his pocket and pulled it open, put it in her hand. “Saw yourself free and stay put. I’ll get him. He’s the one in trouble now. You’re safe, sweetheart—I’ll be sure of that.”
Quinn had hoped to spot Lyle, but maybe he’d have to chase and hog-tie him, then drag him to the road until they could get troopers here. Or could he be hiding in the thick foliage here? He must have seen or heard him and decided not to chase Alex, to run. Thank God she was safe, staying behind. She’d obviously been beaten and dragged around, but she was alive. He’d make all this up to her.
But he had to find and capture her bastard kidnapper. The guy must be clever to have once won her, fooled her. Quinn wasn’t a violent person, but he could not wait to get his hands on Lyle.
Then, around a turn in the path, he saw his quarry, just standing there when Quinn had figured he’d run. The thing was, they were both prey now: Lyle was standing like a statue on the path about twenty feet ahead of him but not looking this way because he was staring down a bear Quinn could see off to the right of the path. The large black bear had reared up on its hind legs, sniffing the air and watching Lyle in return.
Quinn’s pulse pounded so loud it nearly drowned his thoughts. His eyes widened. From the depths of dark memory, he saw again his father’s and Scottie’s bloody bodies.
The bear looked at him, too, then back to Lyle, who hadn’t moved. The guy was a domestic animal vet, but at least he must know not to run. Lyle looked from the bear to Quinn, then back to the bear again. His features were frozen in fear.
Standing still, Quinn lifted his hands high to make himself look taller. Of course, his instinct—human instinct—was to run. To tear back to get Alex away, to protect her and himself.
Steady. Stay. See it out. At least she’s back a ways behind you.
He stood stock-still with his hands in the air as if Lyle had got the drop on him in an old western-style shoot-out. Off to the side of the path, near the tangle of berry bushes, the bear stared, too, the three of them forming a triangle.
And then, damn it, without turning back to look, he heard Alex’s slow, careful footsteps on the path. Why hadn’t she stayed back?
In a quiet, steady voice, he said, “Bear at three o’clock. Don’t move. Stay behind me.” Then he said a bit louder, “Don’t move, Lyle.”
“Yeah, sure,” Lyle said, his voice high-pitched with nerves. “So you can haul me in? I think my car’s close.”
He turned and tore away. He had a head start when the bear ran after him, but Quinn knew what the result would be.
Alex hugged Quinn from behind, holding tight. She was shaking, but he was, too.
“He didn’t know not to run,” Quinn muttered, fighting the tears of memory. “A vet but not with wildlife.”
They heard one sharp scream, then a ragged cry, and that was all. He turned and held Alex hard.
“There may be more than one around with the last of those berries,” Quinn said, his voice breaking. “Let’s head back for the lake, and I’ll call for help for him on my cell in case he’s still alive. It’s either there or the road for phone reception.”
“Yes, we’d better be sure he isn’t suffering after that attack, call for emergency help.”
Carefully, fearful the bear might still be near, they followed the path. Lyle’s body lay in a pool of blood. His arms were wrapped around his head but his shoulders were bare and clawed. Strangely, she pictured a German shepherd she’d cared for which had been hit by a car and lay on the road. No, this was Lyle, a human being, even if a sick, evil one.
Looking all around, they knelt on either side of him. Quinn felt for a pulse at the side of the base of his neck, then shook his head. “Dead,” he whispered. “At least it was fast. I pray it was so for my dad and dog. Let’s call for someone to retrieve the body. We’ll phone out on the road rather than at the lake, then come back here to wait—protect him as he never did you.”
She realized that as cruel as Lyle had been to her, she was crying. A release from fear, a final release from poor, sick Lyle.
Quinn sniffed hard and pressed his lips together. His words came out raspy and broken. “He didn’t...hurt you, force you?”
“He wanted to. He would have. I lied to him to keep him from shooting me. Somehow, he didn’t know about us. He said he found me through my license plate.”
“But someone here must have helped him trace that plate number,” he muttered as they rose and headed for the path to the road to call not for a rescue squad but a coroner’s vehicle.